


my bones are shifting in my skin

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It, Handwavey Ninja Science, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Orochimaru's Morals Are Not Your Morals, Parental Orochimaru, Pining, Questionable Ninja Parenting, Sarutobi is Done With This, only canon levels though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Morality and logical limits are not Orochimaru’s strong point, even as a loyal Konoha shinobi. Thankfully, it seems that parenting actually is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by someone on Tumblr, but I’ve gone rather sideways with the idea and twisted it without mercy, oops. I have no regret, since I've been wanting to write Mitsuki in a fic since he was introduced. Chapters are going to be short, sorry—this fic is self-indulgent more than anything, and updates may be sporadic.

It’s a whim.

It’s only a whim.

(That’s all it ever is, isn’t it?)

Orochimaru sees him at twilight, near the edges of the market, alone amidst the crowd. Except he isn’t alone, not at all, because he’s laughing, beaming at the child in his arms, and the crowd parts around him like the sea before a weathered rock, veteran of storms. The child reaches up, laying small hands against his face, eyes on him alone, and smiles back, unpracticed and so breathtakingly _honest_.

Never before has Orochimaru even considered liking children. He’s never cared one way or another, never had cause for his eyes to linger, never dwelt on children as anything but future adults not yet fully formed. But something about the sight of Hatake Sakumo with his newborn son is enough to stop Orochimaru in his tracks, freeze him there still and startled as a snake before a stampede. He can't take his eyes off them in the stretching sunlight, can't take another step on the way back to his lab. There's not even any saying just _what_ stops him, only that it does.

He can't quite catch his breath, and for the first time in his life, Orochimaru is captivated by another person.

The crowd shifts, reforms. A woman carrying a stack of boxes jostles Hatake from behind, making him step out of the way, and like golden glass shattering into dust the moment is gone. The woman apologizes, Hatake laughs kindly, and with his son cradled in one arm he turns and disappears down the street.

It takes several more moments for Orochimaru’s feet to remember their motion. There’s no danger of anyone coming close to him, no one to push him forward. Just a street that may as well be empty, a heart that’s beating just a little too fast even though nothing _happened_. It is…confusing. Unsettling. Hatake’s face is in his mind, as is the child’s, and Orochimaru can't shake them away.

Tsunade would understand, if she were here. Tsunade would know exactly what to say to make sense of this. Jiraiya would laugh at him, and mock him, but he’d try to explain with broad, terrible metaphors and too many hand gestures. They did it for him before, after all—

But that matters little now. Orochimaru closes his eyes, takes a breath, and forces his feet forward.

Tsunade and Jiraiya have been gone for years, and Orochimaru is petty and hurt and resentful; he will never try to mend those fences first. Let them approach with hammer and nails, and he’ll accept, but even if he tried to send a letter now he has little idea what he would—could—say. They made their choices, after all.  

He doesn’t go to his lab in the Research Division, as he had planned. Instead, he moves past it, headed for the Forest of Death with its rusted-over chain-link fence. By now the sun is almost completely vanished behind the mountains, the shadows stretching long and growing darker. The beasts here are largely nocturnal, but no threat to him—he came here as a child, before everything changed, and used to watch his mother dance among the trees. It was her favorite of Konoha's many training grounds, and Orochimaru has inherited her fondness for it.

Moving through his katas usually clears his mind, gives him clarity. Not so much today. There's an itch in his chest that’s almost an ache, a strange, unsettled edge to his mind. He trains until his limbs are heavy with exhaustion but still can't shake it free. And when he finally sinks down onto the ground, shoving his long hair out of his eyes and trying to catch his breath, that image is still there.

Distantly, Orochimaru is aware of the specifics of Hatake’s life. His wife died in childbirth almost precisely a year ago. He’s a jounin, and one of the best in Konoha, eyed as a potential successor to the Hokage's seat. Sarutobi likes him, and Dan liked him, and Nawaki thought he was cool. His parents are long since dead, and he has no other family besides his infant son—the Hatake Clan, like so many, is a victim of the Clan Wars’ routes. Orochimaru’s own Hebi Clan suffered much the same; the small, powerful, insular clans were always favored targets.

Altogether it means Hatake is almost entirely alone in the world. Like Orochimaru, his family has dwindled down to one. But—

He sees that smile again, warm in the thick sunlight, wondering and so loving, and closes his eyes.

 _I want that_ , he thinks, and it’s almost a surprise. His hands curl into fists in his lap, long nails cutting into skin, and he tips his head back to rest against the wide bole behind him. _I…want that_.

For a moment the memory of Nawaki is all too clear. Orochimaru had been so proud to be assigned his own genin team, the first among them to be granted such. And to have Tsunade's beloved little brother as well—he’d been _happy_.

When the mission went wrong, he was the one to carry Nawaki’s body back to Konoha, the only whole body he could find amidst the massacre. The image of Tsunade's grief from that moment has never left him, and sometimes he thinks, _What if I had—_

But there's nothing. A thousand, a hundred thousand times he’s played it out, and the facts never change. Orochimaru wasn’t enough to save them, to save him. He couldn’t keep Nawaki alive. He failed.

Hatake Sakumo's smile comes to him again, the child in his arms, peace in his eyes, and Orochimaru is on his feet before he even knows where he intends to go.

His feet know. His feet trace the path right back to his lab, dark and shuttered now that midnight has come and gone. No one else is here, and no one will even enter the main building for hours. For now, Orochimaru has free rein.

It will take some doing, he thinks, pulling out thick files of notes and deactivating the traps on them. So much experimentation. Those halfhearted thoughts he had given Danzō’s offer of joining his elite division are no longer viable; besides, boredom was his main motivator in accepting, and that’s no longer a factor. Not that Orochimaru minds—he always does best with a problem to occupy his mind.

He’ll need another source of DNA, though. His hands pause in the middle of flipping through a file, and he frowns, leaning back. His long hair rustles the papers beneath his fingers, and with a huff of irritation he gathers it between his hands, twisting it up into a high bun.

If he’s going to go to all the work of creating a child in the first place, he should be certain the child is powerful enough to survive. Orochimaru has lost enough in his life; he doesn’t want to create a life, raise it, and have it taken from him once again. Thankfully, Konoha has a glut of strong shinobi. It should be easy enough to just pick one of them. No need to ask permission—it’s not as if they’ll ever discover the child shares their blood. Orochimaru is a greedy man, and not about to share his child with another person, even if that person unknowingly provided genetic material.

He thinks, briefly, of Sarutobi, who is undoubtedly the most powerful shinobi in Fire Country. However, his mind shies away from the thought, because Sarutobi may as well be a second father to him. Beyond that, the Sarutobi Clan already has two children. They don’t need more. Perhaps one of the dojutsu clans? Orochimaru has always had a fascination with the Sharingan and the Byakugan, largely because Orochimaru’s family has long told stories about being descended from the same progenitor, Ōtsutsuki Indra. There's no way to give credence to the tale, which Orochimaru regrets, but perhaps the shared DNA would be enough to allow the child to awaken a dojutsu.

Except, Orochimaru thinks with a faint grimace, an activated dojutsu would give the Hyuuga or Uchiha solid grounds for taking the child from him. Sarutobi would likely take his side, but the Clans have influence, and the shared blood would be obvious. Better not to risk it.

For a moment, Orochimaru hesitates over the idea of Jiraiya; one can't argue that he’s strong, certainly, and it wouldn’t exactly be difficult to secure DNA, seeing as Orochimaru has the key to his apartment. But Jiraiya is also a fool, and Orochimaru thinks with a faint snort that he’s already subjected himself to Jiraiya as a child once; no need to do it again.

And—

Orochimaru’s mind keeps cycling back, like a skipping record, to Hatake Sakumo in the market, laughing.

His tapping pencil stills. Orochimaru stares down at the files, now spread out, and breathes carefully. It is…possible, isn’t it? And relatively risk-free, given that the Hatake Clan’s main trait—their white chakra—is easily overlooked. Beyond that, Hatake has the same white hair and dark eyes as Jiraiya, and there are enough facial features in common that if any questions _are_ asked about the child’s other parent, Orochimaru can easily offer up enough misdirection to throw the questioner off. Jiraiya certainly won't advocate to have the child taken from him—he wouldn’t know what to do with a child if he tried. He might not be _happy_ with Orochimaru, but he won't protest if he thinks it’s his.

Hatake is strong, as well. His clan is known for breeding leaders, clever, intelligent jounin with high chakra levels. Combined with Orochimaru’s own abilities and genius, it’s exactly the sort of edge that will let a child survive this world.

The Records Office has DNA from every shinobi, past or present, on file. Several samples, even, to be used in the case of paternity tests or for identifying unrecognizable remains. Their security is tight, of course, but Orochimaru may as well be the snake his clan is named for—it will be simple enough to slip in and take what he needs.

Orochimaru drops his pen, curling his fingers around the edge of the table. This is…not like anything he’s done before. Sarutobi won't be pleased with him. The village as a whole fears him already; this could turn that hatred on whatever child he creates.

But, of course, Orochimaru is a selfish creature at heart. He wants a child, wants that brightness, so he’ll make one. Consequences are for later. Orochimaru isn’t one for second thoughts, and he won't have them in this of all things. He wants a child, so he’ll make one.

 _Lonely_ , something that sounds like Tsunade whispers inside of him, but he pushes it down, shuts it out, and starts laying out his formulas.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a time-skip of over a year in this chapter, and also handwavey science, but that’s par for the course in canon so I figured it was fine. Really, I am shocked by how many people are into this—apparently mom!Orochimaru is more popular than I thought. You all are fantastic!

Hiruzen is halfway through neatening the stacks of files from the Intelligence meeting when he realizes that Inoichi is still present, hovering awkwardly by the doorway. A little surprised, he looks up, pulling the pipe from his mouth, and asks, “Is there something I can help you with, Inoichi?”

An expression strangely like a grimace crosses the young man’s face, but the shift of his feet reads awkwardness more than any form of disgust. “Ah. There was…one more thing, Hokage-sama, if you have a moment.”

Something that couldn’t be brought up with the rest of the division chiefs present? Hiruzen arches a curious brow, giving Inoichi his full attention. “Oh?”

Another awkward moment, a clear hesitation, and Inoichi asks, “Orochimaru. He’s been…out of the village?”

His other brow rising to match the first, Hiruzen inclines his head. “He requested six months of leave. As the war is over, I granted it. His contributions were both valuable and strenuous, and I do try to prevent burnout in my best shinobi.” He keeps his tone mild, but can't quite dredge out the faint edge of warning to it; Orochimaru is closer to him than his own son in many ways. His entire team is. Hiruzen had taken on a genin team against advisement, even though he was only a year into his tenure as Hokage. Perhaps he wasn’t able to give them all the time and attention they deserved, but they got every bit he had to spare, and he’s unspeakably proud of all three of them. The revilement Orochimaru faces in the village—that his entire clan has historically faced—is a definite sore point in Hiruzen's psyche.

There's a faint trace of panic creeping into Inoichi’s expression as he raises his hands. Too young, Hiruzen thinks without quite meaning to, and can't manage to regret it. Just barely twenty is very, very young to have such a position, and a place as Yamanaka Clan Head, but he was the only appropriate candidate when the old head passed. “No, no, Hokage-sama. Of course it’s important that he gets leave. But…were you aware he returned this morning? With a child?”

Hiruzen blinks, and has to make a grab for his pipe when it slips out of his lax fingers. “A child,” he repeats, and can't quite make it a question. Of all the many, many things he was expecting, that was _not_ among them.

Inoichi nods, looking relieved to have finally gotten the matter out in the open. “He didn’t come through any of the gates that the guards remember, but he was seen this morning passing through the market with a little boy. Maybe two years old? I have the reports if you’d like to see them.”

Of course there are reports; suspicious activity, even—or especially—involving loyal shinobi is always documented. In this case, however, Hiruzen has no need to read it. With the bias in the village, he’s more likely to uncover the truth by going to his former student directly. And that, of course, is saying something, given Orochimaru’s penchant for coming at the truth sideways and backwards when he doesn’t want to admit something.

With a sigh, Hiruzen sets his paperwork aside, repacks his pipe, and stands. “Thank you, Inoichi,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound as weary as he feels. “I’ll look into it. Pleasant day to you.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Inoichi bows and makes a quick retreat. Hiruzen follows at a more sedate pace, trying to work out how to confront Orochimaru without seeming like it’s a confrontation. The boy never does well with such things, and when he gets defensive things generally start catching on fire. But this—it can't be allowed to stand, if it’s what Hiruzen thinks it is. It’s not so much that Hiruzen thinks Orochimaru will do badly raising a child—he’s easily the most even-tempered and logical of Hiruzen's former students, though perhaps that’s not saying much—but it’s where he _got_ the child from that presents a problem. Hiruzen knows very well that Orochimaru has no interest in women. No interest in anyone, really, except for a scattered few who managed to catch his attention over the years, and if he _was_ with a woman he’d hardly be careless enough to get her with child.

The trek to Orochimaru’s clan lands on the outskirts of the village isn’t enough time to put together a plan. Hiruzen rather thinks a journey all the way to the capital wouldn’t be time enough, given the circumstances. He’s entirely unprepared when he raps on Orochimaru’s front door, and regrets it deeply.

There's a pause, a murmur from within the house, and then nearly-silent footsteps across the wooden floor. Hiruzen sucks on his pipe, trying not to brace himself too visibly, and manages a smile when the door opens to show Orochimaru on the other side.

The Orochimaru who greets him with a small smile, however, is very much not the one he expected.

There are stains on Orochimaru’s robe, Hiruzen notices immediately, feeling his brows start to climb involuntarily. His hair looks as if it hasn’t been cut since Hiruzen saw him last, almost seven months ago, but instead of falling loose like it usually does it’s pulled back in a loose tail. One of his earrings is missing, and his sash is crooked as if hands have been tugging at it more frequently than he can fix. And—

Beyond all that, he looks _happy_.

It’s been so long since Hiruzen last saw him look even mildly content that the realization nearly takes his breath away.

“Sarutobi-sensei,” Orochimaru says, faintly surprised, though Hiruzen only catches it because he knows the boy. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

Hiruzen's smile is easing, deepening, becoming far closer to genuine. “Word travels quickly,” he says mildly.

Golden eyes shift past him, as though looking for an escort, then return. Orochimaru takes a step back, opening the door wider, and murmurs, “Come in. Please.”

The old clan house is familiar, well-remembered, and Hiruzen slips his sandals off and follows his former student towards the kitchen. There's a new life to the place he hasn’t felt since Orochimaru’s parents died; the nearly clinical neatness is gone, replaced by a slightly more haphazard version, complete with things draped where they don’t quite have cause to be. There's a blanket on top of a bookshelf, a half-finished bowl abandoned on a chair, a book discarded on top of a bannister. Hiruzen knows this sort of distraction very well; he has two children of his own, after all, and while he’s frequently occupied with his duties as Hokage, he’s taken over for Biwako enough times that he knows on sight what it means.

Orochimaru does indeed have a child, and one he cares for as any parent would.

Hiruzen is getting a headache. It’s a very familiar headache, if one he’d thought himself done with after his team of lovable miscreants finally made jounin.

“Mitsuki,” Orochimaru says, turning the corner into the kitchen and passing out of sight. “Would you like to meet someone very special?”

Hiruzen braces himself, steps around the edge of the door, and stops dead.

He isn’t entirely certain what he was expecting, really, but…not this. Instead of a dark-haired, solemn child, the boys looks cheerful. Happy. He’s smiling, and while his eyes are golden his hair is pale blue. Orochimaru’s missing earring is clutched in one small hand, and he immediately reaches out for him, crying, “Oro!”

With a faint sigh, Orochimaru scoops him up, settling him on his hip as if the movement comes naturally, and despite a plethora of misgivings Hiruzen can't fight a smile when the little boy tucks his fist in his mouth and turns to regard him with interest.

“Mitsuki,” Orochimaru says, “This is the Hokage. He’s my teacher.”

Light gold eyes dart up to Orochimaru’s face, then back towards Sarutobi. Very seriously, Mitsuki glances down at the lone earring he’s holding, then stretches out his hand, offering it to Hiruzen.

Oh dear.

Trying not to let his smile grow—there are still serious matters that need to be discussed, and he can't show just how much he’s softening if he wants to have any room to maneuver—Hiruzen accepts it just as solemnly, and says, “Thank you, Mitsuki. It’s lovely. You're a very kind boy to share so easily.”

Mitsuki smiles at him, and Hiruzen is mildly astonished by the sudden resemblance to Orochimaru. He’d know that particular sly expression anywhere, though, and there's no mistaking it.

His stolen child theory—formerly his most plausible—is suddenly starting to develop rather large holes.

“And how exactly did you come by little Mitsuki?” he asks, flicking a glance at Orochimaru before dropping his eyes back to the little boy. “I take it he’s the reason you required six months off?”

It’s only because Hiruzen is watching for it that he sees the twist of emotion in Orochimaru’s face, the way his hands clutch Mitsuki just a little bit tighter. “I am his parent,” he says, an edge of venom to the words.

Hiruzen studies the sharp golden eyes, the pale skin, the assessment in a face that should be too young for it, and has to roll his eyes a little. “That,” he says, rather dryly, “I do not doubt. But children do generally have more than one parent, Orochimaru, and it’s the second that I'm wondering about.”

There's a momentary pause. When Hiruzen looks up again, Orochimaru’s face has settled into the completely innocent lines of his best guiltless expression, which he always tried to use as a genin. Compared to Jiraiya's innocent expression, Hiruzen has to admit, it’s quite a bit more believable. Still, it’s been almost a decade since he last fell for it, and it’s definitely not going to work this time.

“He’s my child,” Orochimaru says, right on cue. “I created him.”

Hiruzen is not a scientist. He is, however, very much aware of Orochimaru’s genius in that area, and the thought alone is enough to make his headache grow. “Orochimaru,” he says, a touch exasperated. “You can't just _create_ a child.”

“But I did.” Orochimaru doesn’t do mulish in quite the same way as Jiraiya, but his teammate’s influence on him is particularly clear in that tone. “He’s mine, sensei.”

“I am aware of that, Orochimaru. But he cannot be _solely_ yours.”

“But he is.” Orochimaru hoists the boy up a little higher on his hip. “He is physically six months old, born on the twenty-sixth of July. I oversaw his creation.”

The child looks and acts at least two, but given the situation, Hiruzen isn’t about to argue. With a sigh, he rubs at his forehead, trying to ward off the growing ache there. “He is fully yours, then? No one else in the village has a claim on him?”

There's a hesitation, long enough to make Sarutobi narrow his eyes. Orochimaru meets his stare, though, meets and holds it. “No one in the village, no,” he agrees.

A poor choice of words on his part, that. Anyone currently _out_ of the village could have a—

Oh no.

Turning his attention back to Mitsuki, Hiruzen studies his face, trying to find any hints of his other wayward student there. After all, there are only so many people Orochimaru would consent to allow to share genes with his child, and for all their eternal irritation with each other, Orochimaru’s always been fond of Jiraiya. It had all the makings of a crush, back when they were children, but thankfully Orochimaru grew out of that phase, at least. Hiruzen can't imagine it ending in anything other than disaster, had he not. Friendship is tempestuous enough between them.

This is likely not going to help much.

“Orochimaru,” he reproves, verging on actual despair. “Is he _Jiraiya's_?”

Orochimaru trades glances with his son and very conspicuously doesn’t answer.

Tobirama certainly never had to deal with this nonsense, Hiruzen thinks, exasperated. Then he remembers just what his old teacher was actually like and has to concede that that’s likely because Tobirama was always the _cause_ of the nonsense.

With a very deep, very heartfelt sigh, Hiruzen shoves his pipe in his mouth again, takes a few desperate puffs, and with the moral support of a dose of nicotine says, “I’ll draw up the paperwork. Orochimaru, please be sensible.”

The expression on Orochimaru’s face shades towards vaguely offended. Hiruzen doesn’t buy it for a minute. “Really, Sarutobi-sensei, I'm always sensible.”

 _Except for the times when you aren’t,_ Hiruzen thinks, unable to decide between amusement and despair. Since he would prefer for his sanity to remain intact, he doesn’t argue, just shakes his head bemusedly and says his goodbyes before things can get even stranger.

If he’s learned one thing about his genin team, it’s that _downhill_ is just about the only direction conversations like this tend to go.

 

 

“That went better than I had expected,” Orochimaru tells his son, lifting him into the air and smiling slyly up at him. “Lucky Hatake is on a mission or he might not have bought it. It’s always best to let others come to their own conclusions, hmm?”

Mitsuki beams back at him, stretching out his arms and making swooshing noises. With a chuckle, Orochimaru indulges him, walking backwards into the main room and falling onto the couch. Mitsuki burbles a laugh, then wiggles out of his arms, slides off the edge of the cushion, and heads for the pile of toys next to the bookshelf. The stuffed snake is his first choice, old and worn and threadbare as it is, and Orochimaru smiles, sliding his returned earring back into place.

This, he thinks, is what he saw on Hatake’s face that evening in the market. The quiet joy, the wonder, the softness.

A child was not supposed to make Orochimaru weak, not supposed to make him emotional. Now, though, he thinks he would gladly tell Mitsuki that he is precious every day. And if that is a weakness, if that’s a heart too visible for who he was before, so be it.

Part of it is the fact that he isn’t lonely, that he has a child in need of constant attention and care, who leaves him no space in a day for brooding. Intelligent, curious, _family_ , and Orochimaru is still an orphan, but Mitsuki is his son. His clan hasn’t ended, he isn’t alone, and until the day Mitsuki is an adult in the eyes of Konoha he has every reason to keep the boy with him.

He remembers so very clearly how much he adored his parents, his strong, wise mother and kind, cunning father, and right now his greatest desire is that Mitsuki will someday look upon him the same way. Not so impossible, if he tries his best. Not out of reach, the way some of his other dreams have seemed.

Everything that’s come since his decision in the Forest that night has been unexpected. Mitsuki’s creation was simple enough once he invented the method—a human embryo formed with DNA from himself and Hatake Sakumo, appropriately altered—as was speeding up his growth so that he would match Hatake’s son in mental age. The surprise was the emotion that came with the creation, with watching the embryo turn from a collection of cells to a tiny, functioning being. The moment that Mitsuki had been born, had opened his eyes and _looked_ at Orochimaru for the first time—

He understands Hatake’s expression now.

All of Orochimaru’s dreams, since the day he stood before his parents’ graves, have focused on becoming powerful enough to bring his family back, to find them and then never have to lose them again. And…perhaps this isn’t anything close to the same. But it’s similar enough that Orochimaru doesn’t care. A child of stolen dreams and years of effort, entirely his and strong enough to survive, and Orochimaru is a fierce, greedy creature and will never let him go.

“Oro,” Mitsuki says firmly, offering up the worn stuffed snake. “It’s cobra?”

Orochimaru slides off the couch and settles on his knees, taking the proffered toy. “Not this one,” he corrects, curling it up so the spade-shaped head is looking at Mitsuki. “It’s a Death Adder. Cobras have a hood, like this one.” He reaches for the newer toy, flaring out the marked hood with a few strokes of his fingers. His skill at ninja puppetry is minimal, mostly learned from stolen manuals when a clash with a Suna jounin brought the art to his attention, but he employs what little he knows now, connecting a handful of chakra strings to the fabric. A tug of his fingers makes the snake rear up, head bobbing and body swaying, and Mitsuki laughs in delight, reaching out to grab. Orochimaru makes it hard for just long enough to keep his interest, then gives in, letting him pull the toy into his arms and squeeze it hard.

“Well caught,” he praises, smiling, and Mitsuki beams back at him, then rolls onto his stomach and starts playing with the snake, making hissing sounds. Orochimaru curls his legs under himself and leans back against the sofa, content to watch.

He falls asleep there, head pillowed on the edge of the cushions, and wakes to find Mitsuki curled in his lap, the boy’s favorite blanket pulled up over them both. With a quiet chuckle, he shifts just enough to get comfortable again, loops an arm around the little boy to hold him securely, and settles in again.

Certainly it’s not a replacement of the mother and father he lost. But regardless, he thinks he might be in the process of building something just as good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait! My attention span, it is that of a magpie in a costume jewelry shop, but I'm working on it. On to the other main character in this little brewing drama! Hopefully this is my Oro muse making a comeback. ;)
> 
> Snake names are taken from chapter titles in _The Tale of Genji_ , because they're pretty and I'm a nerd.

The whispers are louder than they normally are.

Gossip, even on the children’s playground, is something Sakumo has come to expect. Konoha is a shinobi village, after all, and nearly all of the women clustered off to the side of the field are active or retired shinobi, who know the value of a rumor. Whispers are power, words can bring down the most untouchable figures, and information passed on to eager ears is what keeps the Hidden Villages operating.

Today, though, the tone of their words is something slightly different.

Sakumo pretends not to notice as he sets Kakashi on his feet near the edge of the sand pit. Technically, Training Ground 15 is still an active training ground, and shinobi are allowed to come here, but they tend not to. Former and inactive kunoichi and the occasional stay-at-home shinobi husband have taken it over, getting their children used to the sorts of environments they’ll one day frequent. It’s more secure, as well; what invading enemy would trek out into the middle of the woods to look for the future clan heirs and the children of prominent shinobi?

Of course, the look on Kakashi’s face says he would very much rather be at home in the garden, throwing kunai, but Sakumo just chuckles, settling cross-legged on the grass. “Go on,” he tells his son with some amusement. “Playing with other children isn’t the end of the world. Socialization is important for a shinobi, too.”

Kakashi harrumphs a little, uncannily like his mother when she was irritated with Sakumo, but slides down the edge of the pit and sits down stubbornly, clearly not intending to go anywhere. Hiding his smile, Sakumo leans back on his hands and turns his face up to the early summer sun, drinking in the warmth. It looks, he knows, like he’s in his own little world, focused on nothing in particular as he relaxes, but it makes it all thee easier to hear what the tight knot of mothers are whispering to each other.

“—could have _sworn_ —”

“—so could I, but all of those seduction missions—”

“Please, he knows more about the human body than anyone but Tsunade-hime, of _course_ he would be picked for those.”

“She? Maybe? No man can be that pretty—”

“Should Tsume start worrying you're going to leave her like her last lover, Ine? Is he your—”

“If he’s a _he_ you know very well he’s not my type, Otome. But the child had to come from somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Kidnapping?”

“Not unless he kidnapped his own son—they have the same eyes, see?”

“Which brings us right back to the ‘how’.”

“I think you're overlooking one _small_ detail about the man. Unless you ladies really don’t remember how men get babies, in which case—”

“Oh, shove off. But he’s never looked at a woman before, and that’s rather necessary for the process, unless _you’ve_ forgotten.”

“Who cares how he got a kid? _I_ want to know how he gets his hair like that. All I'm seeing is a couple of pins, and you know how long it is normally. If there's not chakra involved somehow, I'm calling bullshit.”

There's a round of laughter, more amused than mocking, and Sakumo cracks one eye open, following the kunoichi’s line of sight to a shaded spot by the treeline. An unfamiliar figure is seated under it, pale lavender robes a sharp contrast to the lush surrounding greenery. Dark hair, pale skin, a truly massive cobra looped around his neck like a scarf—

It’s the snake that registers in Sakumo’s mind, the connection following close behind. Orochimaru, the scientist and swordsman from Jiraiya’s genin team, holder of the Snake Contract. Sakumo has seen him before, has spoken to him in passing—they're both high-ranking jounin, after all, and there aren’t an excessive amount of those in Konoha’s ranks. The few times they’ve crossed paths, Orochimaru was aloof and vaguely cutting, always impatient to be elsewhere rather than interacting with his fellow Konoha shinobi. Sakumo had simply assumed he didn’t care for strangers, since he seemed happy enough to join Jiraiya and Tsunade whenever they were present.

Seeing him in public like this is a little odd, but one glance and Sakumo realizes why he’s here—there's a child in his lap, petting the cobra’s head without an ounce of fear. The kunoichi are correct, Sakumo thinks; the boy shares Orochimaru’s golden eyes, the shape and slant of them, though his smile is brighter, wider. Orochimaru’s is small and contented, a shadow on his face, though that doesn’t make it any less sincere. If he’s noticed the whispers about him, there's no visible sign.

A cute kid, Sakumo thinks with a smile of his own. Just about Kakashi’s age, too, if he’s judging correctly. And, while a genius parent doesn’t entirely guarantee a genius child, it makes it far more likely. Kakashi doesn’t care to play with the other children, since they're all fairly far behind him in development, but…maybe this one won't be.

“Cub,” he says, leaning over the edge of the sand pit and holding out his hands. “Come here for a minute.”

Kakashi, who seems to be in the middle of constructing something that’s far closer to a fortress than a sand castle, gives Sakumo a look that’s vaguely put-upon, but stands up and clambers up the slope. “Why?” he asks, and any other child would be plaintive, but Kakashi is just curious. “Tou-chan, my castle might fall.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone else wants to play in the sand right now,” Sakumo assures him, and smiles when Kakashi takes his offered hands and lets himself be picked up without complaint. “But if someone else knocks it over I’ll help you build a better one, all right?”

Kakashi mulls this over for a moment, then nods, accepting it, and fists a hand in Sakumo’s shirt as he rises to his feet. He scans the field for one moment, quick and sharper than he has any right to be at a little over two and a half, and Sakumo can see the exact moment his eyes catch on the pair beneath the trees.

“Tou-san,” he says, and that tone is entirely interested. “ _Snake_.”

“It’s a big snake, isn’t it?” Sakumo agrees, and he’s close enough that Orochimaru hears the words, head coming up sharply. Golden eyes narrow just faintly as Sakumo approaches—steps into biting range, his instincts tell him insistently, but Sakumo ignores them—though he doesn’t try to move away. There's a pause as something flickers across his face, some thought Sakumo can't follow well enough to read, and then he touches the shoulder of the boy in his lap. “Mitsuki,” he says gently, “we have visitors.”

The boy and the snake lift their heads at the same time, and Sakumo isn’t a man intimidated by much, but he’s willing to admit that the cobra’s sharp red eyes are slightly unnerving. It’s as thick around as his bicep and more than three times his height in length, that gaze far too intelligent for it to be anything but a summons.

Kakashi’s first reaction is, of course, to stretch out a hand with clear enthusiasm, and say brightly, “Tou-san, it’s a _pretty_ snake!”

Surprise crosses Orochimaru’s face, almost too quick for Sakumo to catch, and something like amusement follows it. He puts a hand up to support the snake’s belly as it slides off his shoulders, both of them equally unconcerned about the way its coils tighten around his throat as it goes. And, as a shaft of sunlight glances off ink-black scales and gives them an iridescent shine, much like the fall of ebony-dark hair they're sliding past, Sakumo has to admit that his son is absolutely right. That’s a very pretty snake indeed.

“Her name is Matsukaze,” Orochimaru tells Kakashi.

“A king cobra!” Mitsuki adds, bright and cheerful, and as Sakumo sets Kakashi on the ground Mitsuki crawls out of Orochimaru’s lap to crouch next to the rapidly-growing pile of snake that’s forming. He pets her cheerfully, offering Kakashi a smile that’s three parts happy and one part sly, and adds, “She plays seek and find. You can play too!”

Kakashi hesitates, but apparently the lure of being able to play games with a massive snake summons is too tempting to miss. He looks at Sakumo, and when Sakumo nods agreeably, he asks with all seriousness, “We can hide in the woods?”

“Oro?” Mitsuki asks, in a tone that’s very close to pleading.

A swift, darting glance at Sakumo, and then Orochimaru inclines his head. He reaches up to the neat bun he has his hair tied up in, and then holds out his hand to Mitsuki. There’s a tiny snake resting in his palm, barely the length of Sakumo’s longest finger, and Orochimaru says warningly, “Take Umegae with you, and don’t stray too far.”

Very carefully, Mitsuki offers up his cupped palms, and Orochimaru lets the snake slither over to him, where it disappears up his sleeve. Mitsuki giggles, twitching like he’s being tickled, and then rises to his feet. “Over here,” he urges Kakashi, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the bushes. “Bye, Oro!”

“Be careful, Mitsuki,” Orochimaru returns, and he’s smiling, warm and fond, as the two boys duck into the forest. Once they're out of earshot, he glances down at Matsukaze and adds, “Watch them carefully.”

“Of course, Orochimaru-sama,” the cobra returns, sounding faintly offended at the idea that she would do anything else. With a wary flick of her tongue at Sakumo, she slides after the children, deceptively quick.

“That’s a neat method,” Sakumo says into the silence once they're alone. When Orochimaru glances at him, just as wary as his summons, Sakumo gives him his most charming smile and gestures to his hair. “The little snake, for keeping an eye on them. I wish I could do that with my summons.”

A long, slow blink, clearly rather startled, and Orochimaru lifts his hand again, this time to his ear. What Sakumo had thought was a white-and-gold ear cuff reveals itself to be another tiny snake, and this one winds happily around Orochimaru’s slender fingers. “They're quite useful,” Orochimaru agrees. “Your wolves don’t like to be summoned for such things?”

“Not at all,” Sakumo confirms, sitting down on the grass a polite distance away. If the enthusiasm on Kakashi’s face was anything to go by, they’re going to be here a while. “They tend to think of themselves as warriors more than anything else. A few of the older ones will babysit, but I don’t ask it of them very often.”

Another quick-darting glance from golden eyes before Orochimaru returns his gaze to the tiny snake, absently tipping it back and forth between his hands as it hisses quietly in what Sakumo suspects is joy. He tries to imagine treating one of his wolves as a stress ball and can only manage to picture all the lost fingers that would result. It’s a surprise to think that the snakes might be more easygoing about such things, seeing as Sakumo has always thought of them as far more dangerous.

“You came to look at Matsukaze?” Orochimaru asks, and Sakumo glances back up at his face. “She is a beautiful specimen, isn’t she? Though I suspect she wasn’t the only reason.”

 _Caught_ , Sakumo thinks, and gives Orochimaru a faintly sheepish smile. “No,” he admits. “I thought she’d get Kakashi’s attention, though, and that was a good place to start. He’s too smart for the other children his age, and no one older is willing to make an effort with him. I was hoping your son would be more open to him.”

Once again there’s a strange flicker in Orochimaru’s eyes, there and gone in a bare fraction a heartbeat. If Sakumo didn’t know better, he’d almost call it relief. “Mitsuki is a bright boy,” is all Orochimaru says, however. “A friend would be good for him.” A glance up, very nearly through his lashes, and he gives Sakumo a sly, secretive smile. “Consider it an standing invitation. My home is open to you.”

That smile, Sakumo thinks, swallowing, makes him understand _exactly_ why Orochimaru gets so many seduction missions, anatomy knowledge notwithstanding.

“And the same for mine as well,” he returns, offering Orochimaru a grin. Not quite flirting, but Orochimaru is very pretty. Sakumo doesn’t mind letting him know that. The thought does remind him of the overheard conversation, though, and he studies Orochimaru for a moment, decides he won't get anywhere without actually addressing the subject, and says, “Sorry, but are you a man or a woman? You're beautiful, and I’d hate to offend you by assuming wrong.”

In an instant, he has Orochimaru’s full attention, surprise chasing flattery across the fine-boned features, though thankfully Sakumo can't find any hint of offense. There's a pause, and then Orochimaru says thoughtfully, “I tend not to think it matters, myself. Mitsuki calls me ‘Oro’ because he doesn’t think so either. But everyone I know still refers to me as male. You're the first to ask.”

Sakumo just offers him a smile. “As I said, I’d hate to give offense. Especially if Kakashi manages to keep a friend for an entire day without insulting them.”

That gets him a smirk, sharp-edged and a little cunning. “Mitsuki is difficult to offend, and tends to give it right back when possible. I wouldn’t worry there. ‘He’ is fine for me, if that’s what comes easiest to you. It’s what I'm most familiar with.”

“Thank you.” Sakumo smiles at him, then turns his attention to the white-and-gold snake trying to mimic a ring around Orochimaru’s thumb. “Does this little beauty have a name?”

There's the briefest of pauses as Orochimaru seems to consider something, eyes flickering down to the snake and then back up to Sakumo’s face. Whatever he sees there must decide him, because he offers his hand up, and the snake raises its head interestedly, studying Sakumo with intelligent dark eyes. “She’s an infant sand boa, and her name is Hatsune.”

Without hesitation, Sakumo sets his hand close to Orochimaru’s, letting her slide into his palm. “You are lovely indeed,” he tells the boa, and she curls through the gaps between his fingertips with unmistakable pride. Sakumo chuckles, and realizes that even though he’s keeping half an ear out for any shouts or cries, this is the most relaxed he’s been in a while. Having a conversation, however innocuous, with another adult is a simple pleasure he’d almost forgotten.

It’s not that he’s a recluse, but…beyond Dai and Jiraiya, he doesn’t have a great many close friends. Jiraiya is out of the village and has been for years, and Dai is busy with his own son and his wife at the moment. Sakumo doesn’t deal well with loneliness, he’s coming to find, and while Kakashi is brighter than most children his age, he’s still undeniably a child. This is very pleasant.

The sun is warm on his back, and he watches Hatsune explore his palm and the edge of his sleeve with a faint smile as laughter sounds from deeper in the forest. Orochimaru is still watching him rather carefully, but Sakumo doesn’t mind it. Letting their sons play together, making plans for them to do it again in the future, implies some level of friendliness between them, and Sakumo could certainly use it right now.

Somehow, he rather suspects that Orochimaru could, too.


End file.
